


SOLSTICE

by nightrunning



Series: SOLSTICE [1]
Category: Final Fantasy XIV
Genre: Fluff, Fluff in MY smut??? bro...., Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-13
Updated: 2020-09-18
Packaged: 2021-03-06 20:13:38
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 10,355
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26444698
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nightrunning/pseuds/nightrunning
Summary: For EmetWOL week 2020A collection of one-shot stories that follow Emet-Selch and the WOL from their once upon a time in Amaurot, their adventures on the First, and then the time that comes after. (Also some Modern AU).
Relationships: Azem/Solus zos Galvus | Emet-Selch, Solus zos Galvus | Emet-Selch/Warrior of Light
Series: SOLSTICE [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1922311
Comments: 19
Kudos: 54





	1. LIGHT

**DAY ONE -** **Light**

Amaurot

The little lights played across his fingers and spilled onto the desk. They were no larger than coins, and he directed them this way and that with a thought. A simple magic. Emet-Selch was tired enough that they left odd trails of light as they went, though they vanished when he blinked, jolting awake.

Hythlodaeus wasn’t helping matters. Really, this entire meeting could’ve been summarised in a note.

_But the man does like the sound of his own voice_ , Emet-Selch thought to himself, not at all unfondly, setting his head in his hand. _And a bit of willing company_.

“So, then!” Hythlodaeus chirped. “That’s the long and short of it. Have you everything you need for the attunement?”

“I do, and I have for some time. It’s a straight-forward matter. Some of us don’t need to indulge in theatrics for a simple job.”

“Nobody here.”

Emet-Selch shot him a dry glance and dismissed the little lights with a flourish. “You wound me. Are we quite finished, here? Or is there another tangent coming that I need to remain on the edge of my seat for?”

“You wound _me_! You know I practise all of my speeches.”

That went without saying, and Emet-Selch said nothing. He held Hythlodaeus with a pointed stare that had the desired effect; a flicker of a smirk turned up the corners of his mouth.

“And now you mock me! You know, it’s one thing to _pine_ in your own time, but to do so when a dear, old friend is going through the day’s agenda with y-”

“ _Oh_ , please. We’ve gone over this - it’s not _pining_.” Emet-Selch said through a flutter in his stomach.

“No? No. Of course it’s not. Don’t let me ruin your denial, I know how fond you are of it.”

“I try not to.” Emet-Selch drummed his fingers across his cheek. _Pining_? It was as ridiculous as it was untrue; he was not a calf-eyed youth going through his first blush. There were no secret little smiles, no rendezvous through the flower beds, no sharing of names. It was nothing more than a morbid interest in an… interesting individual.

A pretty face and a betraying stab of _want_ shot through him and Emet-Selch heaved a sigh. He sat up and saw that Hythlodaeus’ expression had softened. It was not the pointed smirk that foretold of some terrible jibe at his expense.

“There was a beautiful sunrise today.” said Hythlodaeus.

“I saw. I didn’t walk here with my eyes closed, you know.”

“Maybe you could use another walk? I hear it’s good for settling the mind.”

Emet-Selch made a face. It would _not_ settle his mind to mill around the square and fend off small talk with those more acclimated to the early hour. They’d be altogether too energetic, and altogether too much for him to handle. In truth, he’d prefer to secret himself away with his work until the light began to mellow.

“It’d do you good to see the sun again, friend.”

The look on Hythlodaeus’ face was so very earnest that Emet-Selch didn’t have the heart to dismiss it with a barb. He’d begun to cobble together a gentle way to say _no, thank you_ when the doors to the Bureau opened.

A long, unbroken line of light spilled inwards towards them, and Azem stepped into it.

Emet-Selch blinked. He picked his head up off his hand as Azem approached - and _oh_ , he was most certainly one of those morning people. He’d rise before the sun and dash here and there, he’d have most of his work done before the noon. And he did it all with such _grace_ and humility. Azem was smiling now. Emet-Selch set a hand on his stomach as though to quell its fluttering, and ignored Hythlodaeus’ pointed look.

“Morning!” Azem carolled, and his voice swelled in the vaunted room.

“Good morrow!” Hythlodaeus chimed back. A moment passed, and he kicked Emet-Selch beneath the table - but what greeting was proper? What greeting could he manage when his heart was caught in a vice-grip? _Morning_ was far too casual, and somehow _good morning_ was much too formal. Would a simple _hello_ suffice, even though they had not seen one another in a day or so?

Emet-Selch took in a breath.

“Azem.” he said.

And Azem approached, beaming. “He’s after you.”

He brought the summer in with him, even as the bureau doors closed with a _thud_ . It was a touch of a floral scent and a breeze to his steps. Emet-Selch watched, helpless to do anything but, and met his eyes when he approached the desk. And there it was - that twinkle, that _look_ that put a shiver down his spine.

Azem’s words and their meaning registered a moment later.

“Hmm? Oh.” He grimaced. “Lahabrea?”

Azem nodded. “He said it’s urgent.”

“He does like that word, doesn’t he? Did he say more?”

“Only that he wasn’t going to do a lick more work until you visited him.”

Hythlodaeus laughed. Azem’s smile brightened. Emet-Selch rolled his eyes - the implication that Lahabrea was going to do any work in the first place was absurd. Still, one never could be sure when genius would arise from mediocrity. Lahabrea had his moments. Emet-Selch resigned himself to the task with a hum.

“Thank you. Tell him it’s been duly noted, will you?”

“Of course,” said Azem. “And I’ll tell him that you’re practically jumping for joy.”

He laughed before he could bite it back. “Please do,”

Just as Azem had bowed and made to leave, he paused - and perhaps it was some thread of Emet-Selch’s quiet hope that he’d stay that held him back. He glanced around the Bureau, and Emet-Selch watched the saccade of his eyes behind the mask, wondering what had put the glimmer there, this time. Azem had ever been a man of few words, but there was a _boundless_ joy in him, an ability to look ahead with hope, come what may. He was smiling when he met Emet-Selch’s eyes.

Hopefully, Hythlodaeus had the good grace to ignore his rising blush.

“Remind me to bring some flowers for this place.”

Emet-Selch blinked. No doubt he had the right of it, mind. The Bureau was rather plain. Azem managed to brighten it on his own - without trying, without meaning to. He was beautiful whether it was dawn or dusk or the times in-between. He was bright enough to find in the deepest part of the long nights or in the darkest depths. Azem was a light you could see with your eyes closed.

The fact came with a prickle of sorrow.

_So why would he ever be interested in a thing like me?_

“Emet-Selch?”

_No_ , he thought, shifting in his seat in a vain attempt to dislodge the sudden melancholy. _That’s not what I want you to call me_.

“Pardon?” he asked.

Azem’s smile whittled away. “Are you alright?”

He nodded and set a hand flat on the table.

“Well, flowers would certainly go a long way to making up for Hythldoaeus’ chatter.”

In an instant, Azem was smiling again. Even Hythlodaeus laughed - and sounded a mite relieved. “You’ve caught this one at a bad time, I’m afraid.” he said, gesturing to Emet-Selch. “He’s not an early bird like you and I.”

“A night owl. That’s not such a bad thing” Azem tilted his head. “I’d best return to Lahabrea.”

_Not such a bad thing_ …

Emet-Selch committed the words to memory and nodded again. “Of course. Thank you, my dear.”

The Bureau fell silent. Azem’s mouth was a little ajar, Hythlodaeus held fast in place and Emet-Selch kicked himself internally.

_Ah._

His next breath came with a shudder that wracked him head to toe. It was too late to recall the words and he didn’t particularly _want_ to, truth be told. Emet-Selch swallowed, then found Azem’s eyes across the room.

But there was no repulsion there. None of the confusion or outrage that Emet-Selch had feared, and expected, to see. Something entirely softer had coloured his expression, in fact.

He said nothing. He only bowed, rising with a sheepish smile, and made his exit. Emet-Selch deflated, swiftly applying his head to the desk with a dull _thunk_.

Hythlodaeus laughed. Because _of course_ he found it all hilarious.

“That was simply-”

“Don’t.” Emet-Selch grumbled.

“No, no. I won’t.” Hythlodaeus said. He was able to wait an entire second before adding: “ _My dear_.”

Emet-Selch groaned.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TY FOR READING! <3
> 
> I'll be doing the full week of prompts - though day 7 gets kind of long (what's impulse control) so I'm going to post it as a seperate fic.
> 
> Come say hello on Twitter where I simp 24/7 ([@emetsquelch](https://twitter.com/emetsquelch))


	2. RAIN

**DAY TWO -** **Rain**

Modern AU

It’d all been a comedy of errors - not that he found any of it amusing in the slightest. One train running late meant that the others left without him, and when he finally reached the station, it was late enough that no taxis were outside at the rank. Spluttering, Emet-Selch had tightened his coat around himself and walked home alone.

Ah, and it was raining, too.

So it was that Emet-Selch fell through the door of the house with sodden shoes (and socks, somehow) and a grim carol of _I’m home!_

In an instant, the living room door cracked open. Azem was in his pyjamas.

“Are you alright? How did you…”

Emet-Selch waved a hand and inadvertently flicked a few raindrops towards Azem. He’d appeared like a vision; warm, cosy and smelling like soap and something pleasantly earthy, like the night air.

“Oh, I’m fine.” Emet-Selch huffed, raking back the damp hair from his brow. “I’ll need wringing out, is all.”

A smile chased away the wrought concern on Azem’s face - and just like that, Emet-Selch was divested of his coat and led into the living room. He was told to _sit and get warm_ , and he intended to, but first knelt to greet their cat who bumped her head against his outstretched hand. Whilst Azem was locking the front door, Emet-Selch eyed the lapping fire in the grate. Would it be _awfully_ saccharine to sit on the rug in front of it?

_Yes_ , Emet-Selch thought to himself, noting, glumly, that he could feel the clothes sticking to his body, _and that’s exactly why you’ll do it_.

So, Azem found him there when he returned.

“You poor thing,” he said, gently, though not unamused. He sat beside him and gathered his hands in his own. Emet-Selch heaved another sigh.

“Remind me to drive, next time.”

“That bad?”

“Oh, yes. Worse. It was terrible even before the heavens opened.”

It was ridiculous, really, how one little _laugh_ could slough away the terror of the last hour or so. Emet-Selch met Azem’s eyes after he lifted his gaze from that smile of his, and watched the fire reflected there. Azem rubbed little circles into his palm, he had a way with kindness, and Emet-Selch would tell him so to no avail. He only ever shook his head with a sheepish smile. _You’re too good for your own good,_ Emet-Selch would say.

“Did you miss your train?” Azem asked.

Emet-Selch pretended at outrage. “Me? I’m never late. The _train_ was, so you can imagine the knock-on effect.”

Azem hummed, and from the kitchen something _beeped_. Emet-Selch barely registered it. His senses had only just begun to thaw. He noted that the television was on, set to a low volume, and it seemed Azem had been watching some sordid reality show - the sort he swore he had no interest in. Emet-Selch turned a fraction and saw the blanket on the couch, a disturbed nest, and when Azem stood, he recognised the t-shirt he was wearing.

Technically, it was his. It’d be the very height of impropriety to ask for it back, however.

Not that he would. Not that he wanted to.

Emet-Selch barely had time to wonder where Azem was headed before he’d vanished and returned… with a towel in his hands, fresh from the dryer. He sat with Emet-Selch again and began to dab delicately at his face.

_Did he prepare this?_

“You walked home?” Azem asked.

“It was my only option.”

“You could’ve asked me to meet you.”

“My dear, where would the sense be in that? We’d both end up drenched.” Emet-Selch teased, and won another breathy laugh for his trouble. Azem tapped his nose with the towel. “Besides, it gave me plenty of time to think of how I must’ve been born under a cursed star.”

Azem ruffled his hair dry, next. Emet-Selch closed his eyes and fell into the motion of it. Now that his outrage had faded, fatigue began to claim its place, tugging like an insistent current in a shallow stream. It was late; on another night they’d already have been in bed.

“I thought of other things, too.”

“Did you?”

“Very unlike me, I know.” He opened an eye and saw Azem smiling. “I thought how nice it might be to take a bath - provided you were there, too.” Emet-Selch continued. The smile grew. “Then something to eat. And then a bed. Our bed, ideally.”

“Anything else?”

Not at all. All he could even _begin_ to want for was boiled down into those few elements. Their eyes met when Azem had finished with the towel - and he had such pretty ones, though there had been a time when Emet-Selch struggled to read them. It was easier now. They knew one another better.

Still, Emet-Selch hummed a note of surprise when Azem kissed him. It was soft and shallow and he couldn’t help but smile against his lips. Azem carded a hand through Emet-Selch’s damp hair, and he shivered when they parted for a moment to meet one another’s eyes again. The kiss rejoined, though this time Azem trailed it from Emet-Selch’s lips to his neck, over his collarbones.

Clever fingers worked at the buttons of a sodden white shirt, one at a time.

The first few came undone easily. When Azem reached the fifth (or sixth, who could keep count?), Emet-Selch shuddered again.

“My dear…” he whispered, quirking a brow.

“You walk in like this and expect me not to kiss you?”

“Looking like this? Like a drowned rat?”

Azem laughed but shook his head. He took Emet-Selch’s face in his hands, swiped a thumb across his bottom lip and kissed him again. It ran deeper, this time. When they parted, Emet-Selch trailed after him to chase the warmth that’d bloomed in his stomach. Azem smiled, and tapped his nose.

He was ever bound by duty, this one. Azem resolved to finish drying him off with the towel. Piece by piece he went, and took Emet-Selch apart in gentle hands as he did so. The shirt came off first. Azem spent long minutes sweeping across his shoulders and arms, all the way to his fingers, before revisiting his chest. Then, Azem scrambled to sit behind him to dry his back. When that was done, he hugged him there and laid his cheek against his shoulder.

In a whisper, he asked if he could _carry on_. Emet-Selch nodded.

Once he was entirely bare, Azem kissed his cheek and said he was going to fetch another towel. Emet-Selch turned so their lips met.

“I’ll wait,” he promised.

Azem darted away, and Emet-Selch turned to watch the television without truly absorbing what was happening or why wine glasses were being flung across a tacky dining table. He felt half-asleep in the most blissful way; adrift and oddly young without his clothes, oddly clean though he hadn’t bathed. And _warm_. He wasn’t sure what to do with the feeling beyond sink into it.

When Azem returned, Emet-Selch greeted him with an outstretched hand that he took without hesitation, returning to sit at his side.

_Our house_ , Emet-Selch thought dumbly whilst Azem wrapped him in the larger towel, _our place with our things._

If Azem noticed his lapse into contemplation, he said nothing, and only pecked his cheek. A man of few words, but that was quite alright - Emet-Selch had enough for the both of them.

“How was your day, my dear? Did anything important happen whilst I was out to sea?”

“I managed to get a new collar on the cat.”

“Oh, a hero for the ages.”

Azem stroked his cheek. “You’re sure you’re alright?”

What an odd question…

_Yes_ seemed the most obvious answer, and Emet-Selch did nod. The question unfurled in his mind like so many woven ribbons. _Am I alright?_ Would he know if he wasn’t? For a moment he was not the man he was today…

But the grief of lonely bygone days faded in an instant. Emet-Selch knew his answer, and whispered _yes_ against Azem’s lips.

He’d meant for it to be a small thing, a peck of gratitude, but it bloomed beneath his skin with a need to be _felt_ . Azem recognised it. He met the kisses that were fiercer and quicker, though they still managed to share hazy smiles in-between. As Emet-Selch drew Azem down to the rug with him, he heard a _tease_ about _initiative_ and the surprise of him taking it, so he held back for a moment with a faux-pout.

Oh, Azem was all soft laughter then. Like butter wouldn’t melt. He cradled Emet-Selch’s face to kiss his eyes and insist that he _didn’t mind!_ He knew he could reduce him to honey with a touch and a smile. It was only proper to attempt to return the favour - even if Emet-Selch’s methods were rather coarse in comparison.

He lay Azem on his back and drew a finger from his neck across his chest. It became a palm then, and even through the pyjamas, he was wonderfully warm.

Emet-Selch shuffled lower and prised down the band of his pants - and Azem dutifully lifted his hips. He was pretty all over, and had a… pretty backside, too. The man was made of gentle curves and planes of muscle, and it all caught the firelight like a scene from one of those awful books he’d had to content himself with, once. Things had changed; Emet-Selch ran his hands along Azem’s thighs with a hum.

It wasn’t typically how their play went, how their lovemaking started, no, not at all. Emet-Selch usually delighted in the feeling of being swept off his feet - whether it was hard and fast and left him reeling, or more languorous. It was bliss either way. There were days, though, when matters needed taking into his own hands.

And perhaps it’d have been better if he weren’t still a little chilled from the rain.

Azem didn’t seem to mind; he moaned when Emet-Selch took him in his hand. The first strokes were long and slow - he was already hard, there was no need to tease, even if a part of Emet-Selch wanted to. Another part whispered that _this_ could so easily become something _else_ , something where he’d be on his back, Azem on top of him, inside of him…

The thought made him shudder. _Later_. That could come later.

For the time being, Emet-Selch let his free hand drift down Azem’s stomach and settle in the crook of his thigh, anchoring him there whilst he stroked. Azem let his head fall back onto the rug. His eyes closed, and an indulgent smile tugged at his lips. A rare thing - and Emet-Selch hated to interrupt…

Pretty eyes blinked open. A gasp marred the smile. Azem whispered Emet-Selch’s name when he bowed to let his breath ghost over the head of his cock.

Emet-Selch managed a coy smile before he returned to his task. He set Azem’s cock to his lips and then swept a thumb across the head, lavishing in the sensitivity of the man and the way his hips bucked, the way his hands tried to find purchase in the rug. Emet-Selch’s towel fell open when he took Azem into his mouth. He didn’t notice. The feel of him and his _taste_ and the sound of his ragged breathing kindled a fire that spread from Emet-Selch’s stomach to his fingertips.

With it came that _desire_ that was deeper than simple lust. It was an itch that never quite got scratched, but cropped up again and again to make him ache _just so_ for a closeness he couldn’t put to words to ask for.

Azem breathed his name. Nobody said it the way he did; either in moments of pleasure like this or on the phone during the commute or in-between barks of laughter in their house.

Emet-Selch took him as deep as he could before holding a moment and releasing, only to slide his cock into his mouth again, more shallowly, more quickly. Azem cursed. He cursed again when Emet-Selch licked a long stripe over the head of his length - and made a point of meeting his eye whilst he did so. He couldn’t quite smirk, given that his mouth was occupied, but from the way Azem’s eyes rolled back in his head, he was certain he got the point.

He carried on at a middling pace; quick enough to bring Azem to the edge and slow enough to enjoy it. A twinge tugged inside him. Emet-Selch tightened his grip on Azem’s thigh and endeavored to take him deeper, more thoroughly, spoiling him with messy kisses and even messier _licks_ when he’d break to breathe.

To think, his plan for the night had been a bath, a meal and an early night. Now Emet-Selch wondered if they couldn’t find the time to put aside to tangle together in the bed.

Tending to Azem like this was one thing, but it was quite another to go through the full intricate ritual of kisses and deft touches, the bedsheets, Azem’s face on the cusp of his pleasure and that thought of _at last!_ whilst he was fucked like a precious, delicate thing.

Azem propped himself up a little to find Emet-Selch’s hand. His grip was hard, their fingers twined and he came with a drawn-out gasp. Emet-Selch swallowed him without a word. He only paused to let him slip free and wipe at his mouth.

Through the haze and ragged breath, they shared quiet, wry laughter.

A moment later, Azem fell into his arms and settled boneless against his chest, and Emet-Selch held him there tightly.

This sweet man who’d thought to warm towels for him. He smiled. Hythlodaeus would never believe that he’d ascended to such dizzying heights of domesticity.

_You might’ve reached them sooner if you hadn’t waited so long._

Emet-Selch thought briefly of a hundred hundred wasted chances to say _something_. He thought of a small herd of cats, a house in the country and a ceremony in a quiet chapel.

Azem reached to brush a damp lock of hair from his eyes. Emet-Selch blinked from his reverie and watched him, the shadows on his face and the blush on his cheeks.

_Would you be happy with that?_ he wondered. _With me?_

“You know,” Azem tapped his cheek and reached to steal a peck of a kiss. “It’s not too late for that bath.”

Emet-Selch couldn’t have held back the smile even if he’d wanted to.

Privately, he began to suspect that his luck was on the turn.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i have NO idea why rain + white shirt + emet-selch has such an effect on me but horribily it does
> 
> ANYWAY. thank you so much for reading! <3


	3. KISS

**DAY THREE -** **Kiss**

Canon verse

The Viera hadn’t been this bad. No, not even warriors trained to be so observant as to border on paranoia were as  _ irritating _ as nosey onlookers from Kholusia. Work on the ladder continued apace, but for as busy as everyone claimed to be, the people certainly kept a weather eye on him - when he deigned to be seen.

And there was such a buzz! Such a strong common thread of desperation and desire running through these folks, from Wright to Eulmore - and wasn’t that a marvel twice as grand as the one they toiled over? Emet-Selch insisted that it was curiosity that brought him to watch their goings-on, and it was, in a sense. Only, once he’d ascertained how the pulleys and Talos worked, he found he spent an increasing amount of time looking at faces, instead.

Ghosts and shades and walking shadows made of thinner stuff than the air. But they were… euphoric. Not entirely happy, no, not with Vauthry’s ascension looming over them in a very literal sense, but where they ought to have been cowering, they were working.

The Scions were in the thick of it, of course. Emet-Selch felt their guiding hand throughout the exertion - a small, capable group keeping spirits buoyed. The smile was bitter as it curved his lips. They hadn’t the slightest idea how deeply their  _ mockery _ cut him.

And as hard as they worked on the ladder, and as glad as they were when it was finished, the Scions spared no expense when it came to keeping Emet-Selch from the Warrior.

There was always a job for the weary fool, a task that could only be entrusted to him, a message he alone could deliver - and that would conveniently take him from Emet-Selch’s gaze. He  _ could’ve _ chased him across the fields if he’d wanted to, but there was no need.

The Scion’s vigil was not constant. Natural lulls in the day formed like a river’s tributaries, and the group would take turns to sleep at the inn. Emet-Selch did not begrudge them this; sleep had become a favourite pastime of his, after all.

As was his want, the Warrior oh-so-politely turned down the offer of hospitality more often than not. Today was such a day. Emet-Selch stepped from the void on the ladder’s landing and found the man tucked in a nondescript corner, slumped, sleeping. It hardly looked comfortable, and Emet-Selch frowned when he came near and cast a long shadow across him.

There were no blankets or pillows on a building site - a shame, truly. There were certainly none of those little cushions he’d liked to keep on the bed, upon a time. Nobody to stroke a gentle line down that tapered back of his, chiding him, gently, to  _ sleep _ , to  _ stop thinking for one moment and let go. _

He’d smile into the pillow at that. He’d grin and whisper:  _ likewise. _

It was almost real enough to touch. But Emet-Selch let the memory slip between his fingers and when he closed his eyes, took in a breath, and opened them again, there was only dry Kholusia stretching from here to there. Fields, shrubs, discarded tools and a knot of wary workers pretending not to listen.

The Warrior shifted in his sleep, and the grief tugged at Emet-Selch anew. Here was a moment ripe for the picking… but no reason to take it. It’d have to remain as one more simple pleasure plucked from his grasp, inextricably. To think, he’d crossed the gap between words, lived so long, done so much,  _ found him here _ , and there was still as wide a gulf as had ever separated them. The thought lodged in his throat. Emet-Selch watched the Warrior’s chest rise and fall, and wondered.

If this had been their other life, their first life, things would’ve been different.

He could’ve acted, then. Said something. Done something. But there was nothing to gain from pressing an old bruise, was there?

_ And nothing to lose at this point, really. _

It took a moment for him to make up his mind. With a huff, Emet-Selch adjusted his robe and knelt at the Warrior’s side.

He set a hand on his knee, lightly.

“Hello?”

Nothing.

“Are the lights on, in there?”

Nothing again.

Emet-Selch frowned and tapped him. “Oh, hero,” he cooed. “It’s time to rise and shine!”

A bolt of fear prompted him to give the man a shake. Two lifetimes bled into a single startled moment, and Emet-Selch heard himself as clear as day:  _ what if you never come back, what if I find you broken, one day? _ He leaned closer and lowered his voice, and if it wavered, there was nobody near enough to hear.

“My dear?”

Finally.  _ Finally _ . The Warrior moved. He turned towards him and murmured. He was close enough that Emet-Selch felt the breath on his cheek.

The distance had shortened to an inch or so…

But it was a bad idea to cross that line. It’d rend him apart, no doubt. So why was it that every wretched part of him ached so badly to do just that? Emet-Selch’s hand tightened on the Warrior’s knee. He did not believe in coincidence anymore; fate worked deliberately, and anything untoward that fell into place for him, for them, was either a mundane stroke of good luck or something far more grand and terrible.

Again, it only took a moment to make up his mind. Emet-Selch kissed the Warrior gently - it was just a  _ brush _ at first, little more than a touch of his lips, but one kiss became  _ two _ and  _ three _ .

And it was almost enough. Enough to imagine he was waking him on another morning that’d unfold into a day like any other, or in the middle of a night when a dream had startled him from sleep. But even then, in those times, his hands never shook like they did now. He never felt the tightness he felt in his chest now, as though something in him was being pulled and pulled taut without snapping.

Emet-Selch could not have said when the Warrior covered his hand. He couldn’t say when he woke. When he did notice, he made to pull away, but the Warrior squeezed his palm and kept him close by whim. The kiss did not break entirely; it rejoined, tentative now, but fuller when their lips met. The Warrior answered all that Emet-Selch wordlessly asked of him, and sighed when the embrace deepened.

He’d always been good at this, the Warrior. Never rough or demanding, just… curious, and thorough.

Emet-Selch cupped the Warrior’s face briefly, but it was more than he could bear to hold him and kiss him and not  _ have  _ him, entirely. The noise that left him was low and plaintive. They stayed brow-to-brow, sharing a small breath.

When their eyes met, the Warrior’s were wide. He licked his lips and opened his mouth, but another moment passed before he spoke.

“Are we moving?”

Emet-Selch swallowed.

His elation clashed inside of him with something far colder. Or harder, maybe that was the word - after all, this happiness would find no place to settle in him. He sat beside the Warrior in a daze, as though covered by a mourning veil, and realised he would need to speak, wouldn’t he?

“No.” said Emet-Selch. “Though you ought to.”

“Oh?”

“There’s a perfectly good bed at the inn.”

The Warrior flushed a little. His gaze flickered lower, and Emet-Selch caught his eye again with a wan smile.

“Your back won’t thank you for this, you realise.” he  _ tsk _ ed. Then, he allowed himself a final touch to the Warrior’s cheek. He held his eyes and a veritable ocean of the unspoken shone back at Emet-Selch. It’d be kinder to tell him  _ not _ to wonder.

The Warrior moved to kiss him. He pressed the peck to his cheek, and Emet-Selch had touched his fingertips to it when the Warrior stood. He rose easily and stretched, and Emet-Selch followed more gingerly after a moment.

“Alright, I’m up.”

“You are,” Emet-Selch took his hand from his face. “And you’re going to rest, yes?”

The Warrior dismissed the thought with a gesture and a smile. “It’s fine. I’m awake now,”

There was a familiar argument. Emet-Selch had been about to combat it in his usual way, but the Warrior found his hand again and laced their fingers together. The smile had changed, softening, and Emet-Selch met it in kind.

Strange, really, how  _ grief _ was so close to  _ joy _ in a person’s heart. The ache was the same; it was the taste that differed.

“Don’t worry.” said the Warrior. Emet-Selch might’ve laughed on another occasion, but he didn’t, and managed a wry smirk. He took the Warrior’s hand in the two of his, patting it and heaving a sigh.

“You’ll learn that I’m right one of these days.”

Someone called the Warrior’s name. And there were all the sounds of the ladder landing again; hammer strikes and grindstones, workers chatting about everything and nothing, and the almost-silent whisper of aether in the air. It was reality and it wasn’t - and it didn’t entirely make sense for the two of them to be stood together, joined by the hand, in a time such as this. The gulf had not shrunk any. But Emet-Selch did not let go. The Warrior didn’t pull away. In fact, he nodded.

“One day.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you so much for reading! <3 <3 especially if you have stuck around this far - 4 more to go...
> 
> you can check me out on twitter if you enjoy .... lots of retweets of art and the occasional tweet about something i took a picture of when i was outside... ([@emetsquelch](https://twitter.com/emetsquelch))


	4. SLEEP

**DAY FOUR -** **Sleep**

Canon verse 

If he had to describe it - if there was anyone left to listen - he’d say it was like looking through frosted glass.

If that wasn’t clear enough, he’d say that it was like the glass that’d been in the windows of the spires in Amaurot. Windows of the parlours at the top of the towers, or in old, grand libraries where the books had cracked spines and well-thumbed pages. It was the sort of glass that let in the light but not the eye - though Emet-Selch could see. He saw quite a bit from his vantage point, in fact.

He always took a moment to compose himself before looking. It’d been the same way before his death; Emet-Selch would pause to hear familiar voices before entering the Ocular or manifesting from the rift, he’d find a point on the horizon or ground to steady himself with before lifting his eyes to Azem.

It wasn’t _as_ bad now - it’d been inevitable. Selfish, perhaps, but the ebb of the lifestream had dulled the sharper edges of his desperation.

This finality would’ve set his heart racing, before. It was now a comfort. There was a certain freedom in feeling hope slip entirely through one’s grasp. Yet even so, it had not left him entirely. No, now it rose like something new from a bed of ashes.

Emet-Selch had intended to look without being seen. Old habits died hard in death, too. And the ties that bind had not lessened at all - it was easy to find a certain string and follow it to Azem. It was as easy as finding the sun behind a thatch of cloud on an overcast day. He could’ve done it with his eyes closed, blindfolded, beneath the ground or adrift on the aetherial sea.

Tonight, he used the shoebill. It was a useful little creature, and Emet-Selch directed it to the Crystarium with relative ease. The Crystal Tower had been a beacon to all sorts even before Elidibus’ vanquishing, and from it, Emet-Selch and his feathery proxy found his way to the Pendants and Azem’s window ledge. The shoebill perched, Emet-Selch glanced around the neat little room (too neat to suggest frequent habitation) and found Azem tucked up in bed. Still halfway in his armour, of course. Such was his life. He would say there was no time to waste with pauldrons or buckles when adventure could call to him at any moment!

But did he not grant himself a night of proper rest, even now? Sorrow coloured the pride. Azem did not stir on his pillow, but Emet-Selch would’ve watched him through the night, even so. _You’re so close_ , he thought to himself, wanting very much to brush the stray hair from his brow and whisper as much to him, to press a thumb to his lip. _You’re so close to understanding it all._

He’d always enjoyed spoiling him. Nobody blushed or blustered about simple gifts and gestures the way Azem did.

Funny, really, how memories were once again all he had left. But Emet-Selch didn’t doubt for a moment that Azem would keep his promise. He’d begun to recount the moment (with a certain dull _pang_ in his chest) when Azem moved. The shoebill stood stock still; to fly away now would draw Azem’s eye, so he stayed and held fast in the hopes that he’d put it down to an odd dream or a trick of the light.

No such luck. Azem bolted upright in his bed and scattered the covers. He gawped at the window ledge, and even through the dark his shock was plain. The room was deadly silent.

But Emet-Selch kept still. He let Azem creep out of bed and over to the bird like a man attempting not to startle a doe in a meadow. Closer and closer; he heard Azem’s shallow breath. The shoebill looked up at him. He’d made a mess of himself; tired, drawn from constant travel and in need of a good, long soak in perfumed waters.

It’d been a favourite pastime of theirs. And in that moment, Emet-Selch would’ve sooner forgotten it all than flown from the window.

They looked at one another, the bird and the man, and Azem eventually smiled. Very quietly, he said: “Hello.”

The shoebill could not speak, of course. It stared. Azem laughed under his breath. There was nothing for Emet-Selch to do, other than hold fast to a promise of his own, made a long time ago, that he’d remember, too.

“Thank you,”

The shoebill tilted its head. From his shirt pocket, Azem produced the small orange crystal that contained the wealth of his Seat. He’d stumbled across it in Amaurot - with some help. Hythlodaeus could’ve made a career off of helping folks _stumble_ across exactly that which they needed. When Emet-Selch saw the crystal, the old _tug_ winched at him. A parting gift given too late and received even later.

_But it’d worked, hadn’t it?_

Azem closed his fingers around the stone and brought it to his chest. As he did, Emet-Selch thought he heard his heartbeat; quick and clever and very much alive.

The light shifted.

Azem was half _there_ and half… elsewhere, and Emet-Selch wondered if Azem saw him in the same way, too. His expression had certainly changed. The smile deepened, and so did the sorrow.

He took in a fractured breath, and when he spoke, his voice echoed.

“I know what you’re going to ask.”

Emet-Selch knew that he could reply, now. “What’s that, my dear?”

“ _What for?_ You’d always ask that when I said thank you. You always would ask…”

Very true.

“I’d thank you for all of it.” Azem said quickly before Emet-Selch could think to string a spry response together. He came closer, too, disturbing the aether around him, vivid blue and sea-green, lingering in the inn room like a strange fog. Could he see it? It reflected in his eyes. “And thank you for visiting, too.”

It was his turn to laugh. “You might forget it come the morning - a stranger in the night.” he whispered. The kiss they shared was just shy of chaste.

Azem shook his head, and set a gentle hand to Emet-Selch’s cheek. “Not a stranger.”

“Not anymore?”

“Not anymore, Hades.”

Emet-Selch closed his eyes and gasped and in that moment, it all faded. The warmth fled to an inconsistent breeze and the light dimmed. He was far away again. He felt the string that led to his little bird and to Azem, to his attention, and knew he had returned to the sea. He knew it, but even so, his outstretched hand closed around nothing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> THANK YOU for reading!! this was definitely my favourite day of all the prompts... seeing that little idiot shoebill in the pendants after beating the patch really did just make me roll around
> 
> i also absoloutely do NOT go and visit it and sit with it sometimes.
> 
> ANYWAY................................ thank you again! more to come tomorrow <3


	5. HEAL

**DAY FIVE -** **Heal**

Amaurotine AU

“Emet-Selch-”

“Out of my way.”

“If you could tell us what happ-”

He cut a glare at the chamberlain nipping at his ankles. The man fell quiet but did not wither away to the shadows. Instead, he kept pace with Emet-Selch as he strode towards his office and gestured. The doors swung open.

“It’s just that Lahabrea has asked what all the fuss is about. If you could tell me-”

“Fuss?” Emet-Selch barked, rounding on the poor fool who, clearly, hadn’t the sense to censor Lahabrea’s ranting. “Is it not plain? Have you not your own eyes to see? I’ve neither the time nor inclination to spell it out for you. Either stay,  _ quietly _ , or else slink away and tell as much to dear Lahabrea.”

The chamberlain gawped, and Emet-Selch didn’t linger to see whether he’d bolt or not before marching into the office. What he needed now was a sturdy surface and more luck than he’d ever cared to hope for. Somebody called his name - he ignored them. His hands shook like frail leaves and a tight, thick  _ knot _ in his throat made it hard to swallow.

The desk was going to have to do.

There was no time to retreat to their chambers or to the healing houses; it was a blessing Azem had made it so far already.

Panic ran cold through his skin and tingled in his arms. Emet-Selch grounded himself before it could crest into a crashing wave. He swept the small silver instruments and writing tools off of his desk, wincing at the clatter, then beckoned for Hythlodaeus to set down their weary wanderer.

Hythlodaeus did so quickly. He draped Azem on the desk, Emet-Selch turned and waved a hand at the doors that shut out the growing throng of onlookers - they’d have to wait.

A grave silence followed, and was shattered in short order.

“He’s in a bad way, my friend.”

Oh, of course he was! The man never did anything by halves. Emet-Selch held his breath and set a hand to chest as he returned to the desk, as though he could, by force of will, stop his heart from  _ thumping _ . Hythlodaeus met his eyes beneath his hood.

“What’ll we do?”

Emet-Selch exhaled. “Have you seen the wound?”

Hythlodaeus shook his head.

“Right. First thing’s first, then.”

He divested Azem of his thick outer robe, gently, then rolled up his undershirt to better see his stomach. Smooth, warm skin was stained red - but the wound that so marred him was blissfully, graciously,  _ ordinary _ .

Azem had travelled afar to lands that lacked the same sort of magics as they had in Amaurot - a notion Emet-Selch had once mocked that he was now eminently appreciative of. Emboldened, he took a closer look at the wound. It was a nasty gouge that began above his navel and ended an inch below his ribs, but already, he saw how it might be cleaned and closed.

The plan began to crystalise as he fetched a chair and dragged it to the desk.

An hour ago, Emet-Selch had been walking home from the Office in a decent enough mood. Oh, there was the usual tumult - he’d mulled over the day gone by and the one to come, he’d wondered where Azem was and who was enjoying his company, presently. He’d even been wondering whether he ought to tap Hythlodaeus for a sympathetic ear. And that was when he’d heard Azem. A spell of communication meant only for the direst of emergencies. Emet-Selch’s joy turned quickly to lead; Azem’s voice was heavy and laboured, but he held together long enough to tell him that he was in sight of the city.

Twenty minutes later, a small search effort had convened and found him.

“I’m going to say something that you’re not going to like.”

Emet-Selch blinked across the desk at Hythlodaeus.

“Don’t you always?”

“You won’t like it because I’ll be  _ right _ . But,” Hythlodaeus paused, took a breath. “We really ought to call for a healer or two, we-”

“No. There’s no time.”

“But-”

A tight cord  _ snapped _ in him but it wasn’t a lash of anger, not this time. With each passing second, the room seemed to grow darker around them, each passing second made it seem more like  _ tomb _ than  _ office _ .

“If you’re not keen to help, Hythlodaeus, you can leave.”

Even as he said so, Emet-Selch feared that today would be the day Hythlodaeus would take the offer. As it was, the man smiled and rolled up the sleeves of his robe. He took the other seat at the desk.

“Don’t be daft.” he said, peering at Azem’s cut. “Didn’t I introduce the two of you? I’m as much a part of all this.”

Emet-Selch let out a breath. “Ah, you  _ are _ right. We should’ve included you in our vows,”

“And even after all this time, I’m still terribly hurt that you did not.”

Hythlodaeus reached across the desk to clap Emet-Selch’s shoulder and share with a look that said, quite plainly, that no more needed to be said. Emet-Selch nodded and sat. He wiped the sweat from his brow, centered himself.  _ This isn’t beyond your ability. You’ve as much capacity to heal as to harm. _

Not that it came entirely naturally - healing was not like observing a soul’s dancing descent or transmuting creation from concepts. To heal, the magic had to be coaxed from flesh to flesh and set to knit and mend. Hythlodaeus had the better knack for it.

But, they settled into a steady give and take. Emet-Selch set a hand on Azem’s stomach, near his wound, and attended his aether.

***

Emet-Selch propped open an eye to see a cut that looked weeks old rather than freshly made, and a certain sheen to the skin.  _ Alive _ , he felt it in his heartbeat as it thrashed once more,  _ alive and well! _

They had done it. Hythlodaeus sat back with a low sigh and Emet-Selch bowed to brush the hair from Azem’s brow, setting a kiss to the corner of his eye. He was warm, too! The feeling of his breath on his cheek wrung the relief from Emet-Selch like a rag.

Eyes still fixed to Azem, Emet-Selch spoke softly. “And how do you suppose this happened?”

“I’m not sure I want to know. It’ll end up being the work of another strange creature that I see in my mind’s eye before falling asleep.”

Emet-Selch nodded; Azem’s descriptions of the beasts he encountered far afield were… disconcerting.  _ Insects with eight legs and awful pincers. _

“Perhaps  _ why _ is the better question. Why did this happen? Why does he insist on these peregrinations?”

“You know why, Hades.”

He did. Emet-Selch combed his hand through Azem’s hair again.

Hythlodaeus went on. “It’s his nature. And what’s worse, it’s the nature of the Seat.”

“So it is.”

Azem stirred, then - softly enough that Emet-Selch thought he’d imagined it. But there was definitely a deft, dazed little smile turning the corner of his lips. Emet-Selch froze. Azem turned into his touch.

And, like a man rousing from a night of deep sleep, muttered: “He’s right.”

Emet-Selch gapwed, and might have stared longer if Azem had not attempted to rise.

“No, no - don’t sit up. You’ve already done quite enough damage.”

Azem had the wherewithal to look meek. He was tired and a little unkempt from his travails, and Emet-Selch tried his best to soften his frown.

“Do you have  _ any _ idea what a panic I was in? The two of you say  _ I’m _ dramatic. My dear, this production of yours far eclipsed any of my design!”

“I am sorry, Hades,”

“I should hope so. I didn’t know if I’d get the chance to berate you at all.”

“I have to do this,” Azem’s smile returned, sad now, and Emet-Selch’s heart broke as it did each time they said farewell at Amaurot’s gates. This was old, well-trodden ground. The path would not change.

Emet-Selch lowered his voice. “Do you? Truly, is this asked of you? To risk your life over and again without a word of thanks?”

“Hades-”

“Have you any idea,” he went on, though he couldn’t say why - the words betrayed his caution in their eagerness to fly. “Have you any idea how it is to remain rooted here whilst you drift away? Do you…”

His voice broke entirely. Azem whispered his name and reached for his hand, and Emet-Selch clung to it tightly. The rains would wane and the flowers would return, and upon the same day he’d wake in a bed too large and a home that was empty. The whispers of Amaurot said he ought to be proud.  _ Azem is bravest of us _ , they said, and he’d never refute it - he  _ was  _ proud. He told Azem as much on the eve of his every departure and the moment he returned.

But each departure cut a little deeper. Each rejoining ached all the sweeter.

When Emet-Selch opened his eyes, he found Azem watching, sincerely.

“I’d best inform the mob that we’ve not lost our number Fourteen, hadn’t I?”

There was nobody better in Amaurot at parting a silence than Hythlodaeus.

Still, Emet-Selch nodded and flashed him a smile that did not reach his eyes. Hythlodaeus took his leave, and Emet-Selch managed to hold himself together for a minute or so before he crumpled to a heap at Azem’s side. A gentle hand found the nape of his neck.

Just this morning he’d been pawing through the books on the desk and tinkering with the glimmering instruments. It seemed a world away, now. A lifetime ago.

“I am sorry.” he said, quietly.

Azem laughed sweetly. “There’s no need to be. You’re honest. I always did like that about you.”

“Oh, careful. You’ll make me blush.”

A smile blossomed between them, despite the stray tears upon Emet-Selch’s cheek; their ceremony had been years ago.

“I will say,” he began. “That you can be reckless, my dear.”

“And you bottle these things up.”

“Touche.”

Azem brushed away a fresh tear. “What are we going to do?” he asked, as though lamenting over a mildly irritating day that’d turn to dust on the dawn of the next.

With a grumble, Emet-Selch took the hand from his face to press insistent kisses to his palm.

“I’ll tell you, shall I?” he clucked. “ _ You _ are going to go to bed and stay put. Do you hear?”

Azem laughed. “Hades!”

“I mean it, Persephone.” said Emet-Selch. “Nobody is asking you to be a hero. You realise this, don’t you? That you do more than enough already?”

“Some things are worth doing even without being asked.”

So simple, was it? Emet-Selch didn’t doubt him, but…

The  _ cost _ had never seemed so steep. He glanced at Azem’s wound, and when he turned to meet his eyes again he found that Azem had already guessed his next question.

“Of course I remember.”

Emet-Selch smiled. “You said you always would.”

“And I did. I have. I always come home in the end,” Azem softened. “Don’t I?”

He did. Emet-Selch sat up to cradle Azem’s face and plumb the depths of his eyes for a while.  _ Adoration _ fell short of the mark. He loved each pretty eyelash as well as the shadows they made across his cheeks, he loved the line of his nose and the bow of his lips. Before he’d met Azem, he’d never thought to  _ meet _ anybody at all.

Then, the vows had happened - two halves to a whole. So why should  _ strangers _ get to keep him for so long? Why should Azem shed blood for those who’d never know his name or hear his voice or cherish each and every smile?

There was no sense to it. Why should their time be cut short for… for…

“Hades?”

Emet-Selch swallowed. “You do,” he said, though his voice sounded small. “Forgive me for thinking the worst when my dearly beloved returns home in a bloody heap, won’t you?”

“You’re never going to let me forget this, are you?”

“You won’t forget a thing.” Emet-Selch leant to whisper it against Azem’s lips. He took his lower lip gently between his teeth, then soothed it with a kiss. “Not a thing, and not that I love you.”

“And I love you,”

Well, that set the world to rights… mostly. Emet-Selch exhaled and stayed close to Azem for a moment longer, pressing slow kisses to his cheek.

When the door opened, a clamour of voices rang through the space before cutting off with a  _ thud _ . Hythlodaeus had returned, and was striding merrily towards them as though the day had not taken  _ years _ off of Emet-Selch’s life.

“Ah! Kissed and made up, have you? Good. I don’t think I could endure another round of his moping.” he said, waggling a finger.

Emet-Selch couldn’t bring himself to scowl. In fact, he laughed weakly and set his head on Azem’s shoulder, sighing when a gentle hand slid into his hair.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you again for reading! this one was a little tricky to write but it's always fun to think about The Good Old Days in amaurot...
> 
> 2 more entries to go! TYSM <3


	6. EMBRACE

**DAY SIX -** **Embrace**

Modern AU 

“Are you going to eat that?”

“Hmm?” Emet-Selch blinked from a daydream into the present and saw Azem point at his plate. The cake had been finely made and as pretty as a picture, but rather too rich for his tastes - perhaps he was getting old. He pushed it across their little table. “Have at it,”

“You’re sure?”

“What’s mine is yours, as they say,”

Azem smirked. “Are we married?”

Emet-Selch set his head, watching Azem paw oh-so delicately at the cake with a clean fork.

“Patience,”

They shared a smile, then. The two of them had dolled up for the evening and braved the heat to travel into the city. They’d whiled away countless nights on the sofa in a tangle of limbs (and a fan), but it was growing… predictable. Dinner was Emet-Selch’s surprise as well as his treat - though he fully expected to fight Azem for the privilege of actually paying the bill.

Azem carefully took the dessert apart. So delicate in proper company! If it weren’t for the polished decor, black marble walls and well-dressed couples, the poor slice of chocolate cake would’ve vanished in a matter of seconds.

“What?” Azem asked, polishing off a bite.

Emet-Selch shook his head. “Nothing. You enjoy yourself,”

Azem pointed the spoon at him. “There _is_ something, isn’t there?”

There _was_ , but it was difficult to put into words. The few that Emet-Selch could reach fell far short of describing the breadth of what he felt: _you’re happy, and I like to see that._ He was aglow, vibrant and at ease and stroking a foot up the length of his calf beneath the table. It was rare to catch Azem in a moment of peace - why shouldn’t he savour it?

Emet-Selch shook his head and only smiled, wryly.

Azem feigned a _huff_ and went in for another spoonful. Somewhere, music was playing - the unobtrusive sort that straddled the line between classical and jazz, the sort that gave mundane conversations a melodic _lift_. Emet-Selch liked this little restaurant. He’d found it tucked away on the high-street; it was never overly crowded, and the decor spoke to something slightly morose in him - black table cloths, black floors and golden cutlery, and grand portraits of bygone lords and ladies in frames that looked heavier than most of the cars crawling outside through the evening traffic.

“It’s not been a bad date, has it?” Emet-Selch tapped his fingers against his cheek.

Azem looked up, wide-eyed, and shook his head. “No! Not at all. Fourteenth time’s the charm.”

He had to laugh. “Were they all so terrible?”

“A few of them were… especially memorable, is all.”

Oh, good lord. He was never going to live down the ice skating incident, was he? Emet-Selch put a finger on the dessert plate as though to move it back across the table and won a faux-pout for his trouble.

“You’re so mean,” Azem whispered.

Emet-Selch took his hand and twined their fingers together. He nodded, and recognised the rush for what it was, now. Even a simple touch could ignite it. It was hunger and happiness and a certain disbelief - _this is all real?_ In its rawest form, it was… contentment.

And it multiplied tenfold when he watched Azem struggle to cut the cake with his opposite hand.

“What was the other thing you said you wanted to do tonight?”

“Oh, it's only an idea.” Emet-Selch brought Azem’s knuckles to his lips.

“Is it far?”

He shook his head, happy to watch Azem finish the dessert before flagging one of the wait staff. As predicted, Azem balked when Emet-Selch insisted on paying for both of their meals, no arguments, no IOUs, no _making it up to him_. It was simply what one lover did for another, he said. Azem blushed so very prettily - which was payment enough.

Afterwards, Emet-Selch led him by the hand to the back of the restaurant, past the bar, and said nothing when asked where they were headed. He shot a smirk over his shoulder and directed him through a small door. It led to a seemingly endless flight of stairs, and by the time they reached the fire escape upon the roof, they were about ready to collapse into a heap together.

But then, Azem saw the view. His face lit up. Emet-Selch couldn’t look away; the city was all the more beautiful for being reflected in those eyes of his.

He rushed across to the railing to take in the scene. The city unfurled from their vantage point in its heart, with a web of roads beneath where cars and bikes and knots of pedestrians looped the circuit. Even the glass giants, the skyscrapers, that cut the horizon had an elegance to them now that the sun had set.

The wind rifled through Azem’s hair and made the collars of his shirt flutter.

And there was nobody around to disturb them. For _once_. There always seemed to be a looming task shortening their time together, a commitment that couldn’t be wriggled out of, or an impending visit from an insistent friend.

But not here. Azem gaped, looking this way and that.

“It’s beautiful,”

“Isn’t it?” Emet-Selch watched the flicker of his eyes.

It was like all the light from the cars and shops and glitzy hotels had gathered in him - and it was just like Azem to get swept away in a simple view. It was precisely why Emet-Selch had wanted him to see it. The world had changed in the time since they’d been together, or rather, Azem had shown him how to see it, properly.

This sweet thing was the man who’d taken him for long, ranging walks through the fresh snow (and suffered his running commentary of how he couldn’t feel his nose or ears), he woke him at ungodly hours to watch shooting stars (and didn’t mind if he fell asleep on his shoulder beneath their blanket). He’d insist that they watch the sunsets melt away in their little garden in the summer and watch the dawn break from the window seat in the bedroom in winter. Azem had been trusted with these secrets - hidden in plain sight, as they were. He was so keen to live in this world, and so keen to share it with him.

So, really, a meal was the least Emet-Selch could do. He went to him and set a hand on his waist, guiding him backwards until they were face-to-face, standing as a pair of dancers would.

“What’s this?” Azem laughed.

Emet-Selch feigned shock. “Don’t tell me you don’t know _how_!”

“To dance? So long as I don’t move my feet at all, I can manage.”

With a _tsk_ , Emet-Selch corrected Azem’s posture, set his hands in the proper place, and brought them to position again. “That’s not going to do, my dear.” he purred.

They’d lost the not-quite-jazz, but it wouldn’t matter.

Azem’s smile was wonderfully coy. “You realise I’m leading?”

“You _are_. Do try not to take us over the edge of the roof, won’t you?”

“I’ll do my best.” Azem grinned.

Despite saying so, however, he promptly showed a blatant disregard for their waltz by kissing him. It was a gentle thing, not entirely chaste, but a promise so potent that it made him dizzy. After, Azem bumped their noses together and settled into his poise, guiding them back and forth across the rooftop.

It was not a proper dance by any means. Emet-Selch could practically hear Hythlodaeus’ _constructive comments_ (“ _You’ve the gait of a hunched old man! Oh, wait… that’s exactly what you are.”_ ), but it was nice to simply hold Azem.

Nobody else had ever felt so solid and warm beneath his hands. Nobody fit with him so perfectly. They laughed when Emet-Selch trod on his foot and paused a moment for a helicopter to pass by. But that little smile had returned; the one that came without thought of tomorrow’s tasks or the weights of today. It was the smile he wanted to see more than any other.

“You alright?” Azem whispered.

_Yes_ \- and wasn’t that strange?

Stranger still, Emet-Selch was no longer worried that it’d shatter into a million pieces. He nodded with confidence.

“More than.”

Azem beamed.

The kiss he furnished Emet-Selch with did not taper off this time - though their dancing did. Azem held him firm by the waist. Emet-Selch cupped his face and only parted the kiss to catch the way his eyes flickered upwards from his lips. And _oh_ , that smirk that followed… 

Truth be told, he’d wanted to do this from the moment he’d seen Azem in his finery.

He was so _warm_ beneath the clothes, too! Emet-Selch clung to him as the kiss deepened. It was easy to surrender control and Azem didn’t need telling twice; he retained enough wherewithal to feel an errant breeze and a sense of their height. But everything else was _him_ . _Them_.

And clever hands inching further down his body. When Azem took a handful of his ass, things almost did shatter… but not at all in an unpleasant way. Emet-Selch bit back a gasp. Azem; his dearest friend and companion, now his lover. For the first time, he realised all that the word entailed.

Would he be gentle when the time came for them to fall into bed? Or would he be spurred to passion of a rougher, coarser sort? Azem whispered to him. Emet-Selch laughed, lost in a haze of _what if’s_ and _maybes_ and only came to when Azem took him by the chin.

He teased him with an almost-kiss. He ghosted a heavy breath across his lips. And it took all Emet-Selch had not to back him up against the wall of the fire escape.

“Sirs?”

The waiter poked his head around the door. Azem and Emet-Selch broke to gawp, and the man had the decency to at least attempt to hide his smirk.

“One of you left your wallet downstairs, I believe.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you for reading! <3 <3 <3 y'all thought i could get through this without writing some slow dancing?
> 
> NOTE: tomorrow's prompt is a seperate fic which [you can read here](https://archiveofourown.org/works/26547331)! you can also find me on twitter [@ emetsquelch](https://twitter.com/emetsquelch). thank you! <3


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